The Lazy Girl's Guide To Magic : The Complete Series

by Helen Harper

  ‘Yes. I mean, I thought everyone knew about it until I spoke to you.’

  I snapped my fingers at a couple of witches hovering nearby. ‘Go to HR. Find out which witches have put in complaints over the last year.’

  Eager to please, they bobbed their heads with vigorous, youthful enthusiasm. They’d learn. ‘What kind of complaints?’ the shorter witch asked.

  ‘Anything against the Order or against Ipsissimus Winter. It’s possible we’ll find someone who is holding a grudge and is looking for revenge.’ After all, it was difficult to imagine that a non-witch had snuck in and stolen the Angel; the rest of the world tended to be wary of the Order. ‘There might be some non-Order covens looking to make their mark as well.’ I gestured at some other Neophytes. ‘You lot start investigating the local covens. Have any been seen in the neighbourhood recently?’

  They bowed deferentially, making me feel oddly flustered. Abigail stared at me with something akin to awe. ‘You’re so good at this.’

  ‘Delegation? I’ve had a lot of practice.’

  ‘I meant investigating crime.’

  Oh. Well, I suppose I was motivated. I directed the other witches to start going door to door around the Order itself. In the unlikely event that the Angel had merely been misplaced or mistakenly appropriated, someone might know where it was.

  It wasn’t long before I was the only one left. Abigail departed with the very last group, leaving me all on my lonesome ownsome. I considered everything and realised that there was virtually nothing left to do. Almost every avenue was already being investigated by someone else. Bonus. I could get used to this teamwork thing.

  Catching sight of one of the newer Order ghosts floating up ahead, I called out. ‘Hey!’

  She turned towards me and frowned; the disastrous effects of a herblore spell gone wrong revealed how she’d died. Meandering in my direction, she raised her only remaining hand as if to ward me off. ‘I’m not next,’ she said, with a definite lisp. ‘There are 32,674 spirits in front of me in the queue.’

  Not for the first time I was depressed by the thought of how long it would to take to get all these ghosts to pass over to the next plane. Last month I’d even tried to institute a proforma email to help move things along a bit.

  Dear …

  You are being haunted by a ghost. He/she has been cursed by you/your ancestors. In a loud, clear voice state the name of said ghost [insert name here] and the words, ‘You are now released from the curse by the power invested in me.’

  Kind regards

  Unfortunately it was proving more complicated than I’d anticipated. Some emails went to spam folders or to defunct addresses and the rest were disregarded or disbelieved. It was, like most of my life, a work in progress. At the moment, I was debating using Order funds to buy some television airtime. I could simply tell the viewing public to take a couple of hours to run through the names of everyone they’d ever met, along with everyone their ancestors had ever met, and release any potential trapped ghosts. Like I said, work in progress.

  Of course, if I died in the witchy apocalypse none of that would ever happen. I grinned to myself. Those spirits needed me. That meant they had to help me locate the dratted Angel.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said to the spirit. ‘I wouldn’t dream of disrupting Grenville’s orderly queue. I understand how important it is that the more ancient ghosts are released from their curses first. I do want to speak to all the Order spirits together though. Can you get them all to meet me?’

  She looked at me suspiciously as if I could only be up to no good. Honestly, most of these dead dudes seriously needed an injection of their own holiday joy. Some kind of ghostly version of eggnog, perhaps. ‘Meet you where?’ she enquired.

  ‘The cafeteria,’ I said cheerfully. I might as well kill two birds with one stone. Without waiting for the grumpy ghost to either agree or disagree, I ambled off. The biscuits had been good but now I needed something more substantial.

  Chapter Seven

  I’d barely strolled through the main cafeteria doors when one of the chefs came striding towards me. He wasn’t a witch but he had several family members who were. Usually he was very proud of his position at the Order but today his face was so red and rage-filled that I almost turned on my heel and left again. Almost. I was still hungry.

  ‘Ivy Wilde!’ he roared. ‘I want to see the Ipsissimus and I want to see him now!’ He slammed his foot down on the floor and glared at me, as if I could conjure up Winter out of thin air. Now, there was a thought. Raphael Winter, naked and on a platter and there for my taking whenever I decided I wanted him…

  ‘I cannot work under these conditions!’

  I snapped out of my sudden vivid daydream and fixed my attention back on the chef. ‘Ipsissimus Winter is busy,’ I said. ‘But I can pass along your message.’

  ‘You could help me yourself!’ he bellowed.

  Mmm. ‘No, I’m afraid not. I’d only mess things up if I got involved.’

  ‘You don’t even know what the problem is.’

  ‘If you want to keep it to yourself for now, that’s absolutely fine. I understand that some information must be kept privileged from non-Order ears like mine.’

  The chef’s eyes flashed. ‘There’s a magical delegation visiting from Tokyo tomorrow. I ordered in an entire salmon for them, the very best that our country has to offer and the sort of fish that sushi lovers would adore.’

  Yum. ‘Did you burn it?’ I asked, hazarding a guess as to the problem.

  ‘Don’t be an imbecile! I can hardly burn something I’m going to serve raw.’

  He was a man after my own heart. Why go to the trouble of cooking something when you could simply carve it up and hand it over?

  Unfortunately, the chef wasn’t finished. ‘It’s been stolen!’ His hands shook with frustration.

  I gazed at him stupidly. ‘Someone nicked a fish?’

  ‘Not just a bloody fish. A prime salmon from Scotland!’ He put his hands on hips. ‘Now what are you going to do about it?’

  A lost salmon was hardly high on my list of priorities. Not right now. ‘If I see it,’ I said carefully, ‘I’ll let you know.’ His mouth opened to reply and I knew I was about to get another earful. I continued quickly before my eardrums were shattered. ‘Now, I have an important meeting here which is about to begin.’

  The chef’s eyebrows snapped together. ‘Meeting? Who with? I don’t see anyone…’ His voice trailed off as dawning realization lit his eyes. ‘No. Not the ghosts. Tell me you’re not meeting the ghosts here.’

  I offered him a rueful smile but said nothing.

  ‘They make the milk go sour!’

  They didn’t really but it was a superstition I’d invented for just this sort of eventuality. Of course, just because I’d made this particular superstition up didn’t mean that the rest of them weren’t true.

  I raised my shoulders helplessly. ‘The end of the world is nigh. I have to meet the ghosts somewhere.’

  ‘Not here, you don’t.’

  ‘There’s nowhere else.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘What do you want to go away and take your spookies with you?’

  My answer was prompt. ‘A bacon sandwich with the crusts cut off and lashings of brown sauce.’

  He sighed and gritted his teeth, acknowledging he’d been outmanoeuvred. ‘Done.’

  It really was that easy. Then a thought struck me. ‘But if you or anyone else spits in it, I will know. And I’ll be able to use the DNA to conjure up all sorts of nasty things that will—’

  He interrupted me. ‘Nothing untoward will happen to your damn sandwich. Just take your ghosts and get out of here. I’ll have the sandwich brought to you.’

  I leaned across and gave kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thanks! You’re the best. And the best bacon-sarnie maker this side of the Channel.’

  He muttered under his breath and stalked away. There was just enough of a spring in his step for me to know that he was secretly over
joyed at the compliment.

  I wasn’t perfect but I wasn’t wholly evil either.

  I was in the small park in front of the cafeteria finishing off the last bite when Grenville appeared, flickering into existence right next to me. ‘Everyone’s here,’ he said. He stared at my empty plate for so long that I was certain he was starting to drool. The suggestion of a good bacon sandwich could do that to anyone, even a centuries-old ghost who’d probably never had one in real life.

  He looked away and I licked the grease off my fingers. This was one of those occasions when it was wise not to remind Grenville that he was a mere ghost and could neither eat nor drink.

  I thanked him and looked around. There were more ghosts here than I’d realised – and at least three unfamiliar faces. I coughed then stood up on a park bench so they could all see me.

  ‘The Hallowed Order of Magical Enlightenment requires your help,’ I intoned formally. ‘The Angel of the Order is missing. If we do not locate it soon, a terrible curse will be unleashed which will no doubt cause my death. If I’m dead, then so are you.’ I wrinkled my nose. That hadn’t come out quite as I’d intended. ‘I mean, you’re already dead now but you’ll be dead in the sense that you won’t be able to pass to the next plane. Not until some other poor sap who can talk to ghosts shows up. The only chance for all of us is to find the Angel – and find it soon.’ Realising that I was babbling, I did what I could to regain control of my mouth. I took a deep breath. ‘I command you all to go forth and seek out the Angel of the Order.’

  For a long moment there was nothing but silence. Then, towards the back of the crowd of assembled ghosts, a tentative hand went up. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Yes?’ I asked benignly.

  ‘There are only twelve people in front of me in the queue. Can you just help me get rid of my curse now, so I can pass over before you die?’

  ‘Hey!’ roared another nearby ghost. ‘That’s not fair! My curse is held by the Littleby family. They work right here. I might be further down the queue than you but mine will be easier to remove.’ He snapped his head towards me. ‘Help me!’

  Something or someone shoved him and he went flying. An old woman threw herself up into the air. ‘When I was alive, I worked in a soup kitchen! I rescued a small child from certain drowning! I had eight small children of my own! I deserve to be released first!’

  ‘If you were so good,’ yelled yet another ghost, ‘then why were you cursed to remain here in the first place?’

  A cacophony of voices rose. ‘Release me!’

  ‘Help me first!’

  ‘I deserve this!’

  I glanced at Grenville helplessly. This was the last thing I’d intended to happen. I had enough things to worry about; rioting ghosts were not going to help matters.

  ‘I could have told you this was a bad idea,’ Grenville said. He looked as if he were enjoying himself. ‘The absolute worst thing you can do is give someone hope and then snatch it away from them at the last minute.’

  ‘I’m not snatching away hope! I’m just saying that without their help, things might get a bit hairy and there will be…’

  ‘No hope?’ he enquired.

  I shrank into myself. ‘I’m the Global Phantom Solutions and Assurance Strategist. The only one in the world. I should be finding solutions and assuring ghosts that I have a strategy.’

  Grenville raised an eyebrow. ‘Go on then.’

  Er… I gazed at him beseechingly. ‘Can you…’

  He folded his arms. ‘No.’

  Drat.

  Something white and small caught my eye as it drifted down from the sky. ‘Look!’ I shrieked, in a voice high-pitched enough to catch the attention of the squabbling ghosts. ‘Snow!’

  There was a moment’s silence. I knew I didn’t have long before their fighting started again. I racked my brains. Then, before I knew it, my mouth was opening once again. ‘Away in a manger,’ I sang. ‘No crib for a bed.’

  Every single ghost stared at me. I nudged Grenville to encourage him to join in but he was too astonished to do more than gape.

  ‘Is that daft girl singing now?’ I heard one ghost mutter.

  I waved my arms around with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. ‘It’s Christmas! Get into the spirit, you spirits!’

  ‘Bah humbug.’

  ‘It’s not Christmas, you know. Christmas doesn’t begin until December 24th. Honestly, it gets earlier and earlier every year.’

  The grumbling was getting louder again. I spotted Abigail appearing from around one of the buildings, leapt down from the bench and dashed towards her. ‘Anything?’ I asked. ‘Any clues? Any sign of the Angel?’

  She shook her head miserably. ‘No, there’s nothing. But…’

  I felt a flare of hope. ‘But what?’

  She squinted. ‘Were you just standing on a bench and serenading yourself with a Christmas carol?’

  Behind me I could hear Grenville laughing. ‘It’s a long story,’ I said shortly. ‘Come on, let’s get out of the cold.’

  I left Grenville to his band of moaning ghosties. If I succumbed to whichever curse decided to rear its ugly head first and died horribly, they’d really have something to complain about. Of course, knowing the way my luck was going, I’d also be cursed so that I’d end up joining them and then I’d have the rest of eternity to hear their complaints. Excellent. I wouldn’t even get peace in the grave.

  Merry sodding Christmas.

  Chapter Eight

  Winter came up behind me and wrapped his arms round my waist. I inhaled deeply, enjoying both the feel of his body against mine and his musky, male scent. Outside, the flakes of snow continued to swirl downwards.

  ‘Maybe,’ I said, ‘the snow is a good thing. There will be so much of it that it will extinguish any lava that comes spouting out of Oxford’s brand-spanking-new volcano which is going to appear under our feet any second now.’

  Winter chuckled softly. ‘You don’t really believe that’s going to happen, do you? The volcano, I mean. The Angel could have been stolen months ago and yet there have been no ill effects whatsoever. Besides, chances are it’s only been misplaced. It’ll turn up in March in some forgotten corner. You really shouldn’t worry about it.’

  I was silent for a moment. It didn’t bother me that Winter wasn’t superstitious but surely he knew that curses couldn’t be dismissed out of hand. ‘Maybe it will just turn up,’ I said. ‘But maybe it won’t. You know how many ghosts are in the queue to pass on because they’ve been cursed and are trapped here. There’s power in curses. Extraordinary power. We’ve searched and searched and the Angel is nowhere to be found. It might have been one of your witchy geek enemies who took it. It might have been someone who didn’t know any better. It might just have been lost by sheer accident. But whatever’s happened to it, we can’t pretend that its absence isn’t dangerous. I’ve already sent Abigail and the rest of the Neophytes home just in case – but what happens next is anyone’s guess.’

  He pressed his lips to my neck. ‘Whatever comes to pass,’ he murmured, ‘I’m sure we can work it out. We always do. Between us, we’ll find a way.’

  I loved his optimism. I just hoped it wasn’t misplaced.

  Winter’s hand reached under my jumper, gently caressing my skin. ‘The snow might be good for other reasons,’ he purred. ‘We’ll get snowed in. We’ll be forced to stay here together with only our body heat to keep each other warm. We’ll be trapped here for days.’ His hand moved further up, his fingers grazing against my ribcage. ‘Just the two of us. No witches, no Order, no Angels, no curses…’

  Princess Parma Periwinkle strolled in and deposited herself in front of the open fireplace before performing some extraordinary contortion so that she could reach her bottom with her tongue.

  ‘Sure. Just me, you and two grumpy cats,’ I said with a grin.

  ‘They like each other really.’ He paused. ‘Where is Brutus anyway?’

  ‘Last I saw, he almost brought down the Chr
istmas tree on top of our heads. And there’s an entire salmon missing from the cafeteria, which is probably down to him. I wouldn’t put it past him.’

  Winter snorted. ‘I thought he’d have ventured back home by now. I wouldn’t have imagined snow would be his thing.’

  I snuggled further back against him. ‘It’s not. Last winter he positioned himself by the radiator and didn’t move for three months – and there wasn’t even any snow. Just some frost.’

  ‘He didn’t move from the radiator? Not even for fooooood?’ Winter teased.

  I smiled. Then my insides froze with a nausea-inducing epiphany and I yanked myself away, throwing my hands up. ‘Goddammit!’

  He blinked at me. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Brutus,’ I snarled. ‘Brutus took the Angel.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘I just said it – he hates the cold. Plus, he was hanging around the tree when Abigail and the others were putting up the decorations. He had ample opportunity. The locator spells used to search for the apparent thief wouldn’t have picked him up because he’s not human. And I definitely saw him scampering off with another decoration in his mouth.’ I stomped over and grabbed my coat, shrugging it onto my tense body.

  Winter watched me. ‘That’s just circumstantial. I can’t see why Brutus would steal a silver angel.’

  ‘Why does Brutus do anything?’ I grimaced. ‘There was a clump of something icky in the bottom of the box the Angel was kept in.’

  ‘I thought no one could work out what it was.’

  ‘We couldn’t.’ I cursed. ‘But I bet it was a damned pile of dried cat sick.’ I stalked over to the door, narrowly avoiding treading on Princess Parma Periwinkle’s tail. Everything was falling into place, apart from the motive.

  ‘Do you know where he is?’ I demanded, glaring down at Winter’s familiar.

  As if in answer she made a run for it, abandoning the fire’s heat in favour of skidding under the sofa. So be it. I flung open the door and stomped out.

  ‘You’re still wearing your slippers!’ Winter called out before catching me up.